


I'm Trouble

by awildlokiappears



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, The shameless eye porn that is Jeremy Renner in black and a black Stetson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildlokiappears/pseuds/awildlokiappears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint was never fond of guard duty...but did they all have to wear the hats? Blame Pink, Jeremy Renner, and cowboy kinks. Some swearing, but nothing else to worry about. Mild ClintxTony</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Trouble

"No  _fucking_  way."

"This isn't a request, agent."

"I don't care, I am  _not_  playing dress-up."

"You will do it, and you will like it."

"Sir, kindly go fuck yourself." A hand slapped the back of Clint Barton's head, and he groused as Coulson sat back serenely, files in hand, and Fury's teeth clenched at the insubordination.

"Agent, you will do this. You will do this because our Commander in Chief has requested the Avengers' presence, and he will damn well get it, because if I have to go before the Council and tell them why our President was not given the best protection this world has to offer, I will drag your sorry ass in and tell them it was all your idea." Clint stared, jaw slack, and a whine filled the room.

"That's fucking blackmail!"

"That's my fucking  _job_ , Barton."

"Sirrrr..."

"Tough shit, cowboy. Go pick up your spurs and Stetson."

...

A week later, Clint Barton was leaning against the side of an honest-to-god sheriff's office, in the middle of the most aptly named 'Cowtown', dressed from head to toe in black. Black jeans, black boots, black button-up, and a black Stetson. Did he mention it was 101 outside? Oh, right, because the heat was blazing down, and he felt like he was melting. He'd already rolled up his sleeves as far as he could go, and he glanced across the street, toothpick rolling on his lips as he caught sight of Tony, looking even hotter than he was. Then again, Tony Stark was no man's bitch, and had outright claimed the blacksmith's forge for his own domain throughout this little charade.

Stark was in a black beater, jeans, and leather chaps over them, a heavy leather apron protecting and covering the reactor in his chest as he steadily worked through the pile of steel bands. He was skilled, that much Clint had to admit; fifteen minutes of steady ringing on the anvil, and a red-hot loop settled over another barrel, scorching the wood before a bucket of water, tossed by a happy Thor, cooled it to black. Across the street, Natasha and Bruce were working out of the doctor's office, and he winced in sympathy at how exhausted she looked. At least his Stetson kept the sun out of his eyes, and kept him in some shade.

Nothing less than full dress would suit the President, who was visiting Cowtown on his election campaign as a way to bolster the swing state, and the Avengers were part of the show, filling in for the blacksmith, doctor, and sheriff as they kept their eyes open and weapons at the ready. Though, how two of them were going to be able to fight was beyond Clint; Tasha was in full period dress, down to the corset and crinoline, and Bruce's Other guy would have to rip through a few layers of heavy canvas that made up the knee-length doctor's coat. Steve had it best, out of all of them; blue shirt to match his eyes, white Stetson, and blue jeans, his red boots and silvery spurs hardly dusty at all as he led the first group, sans President, through the town.

Clint sighed. At least someone was having fun...

"Somethin' wrong, deputy?" The voice was warm, smooth, and a gentle alto, and Clint turned to see the 'madam' of the town, dressed down for the weather, though her bustier and rucked-up petticoats didn't leave much for the imagination...but then he noticed the dual streaks of white in her hair, and winked at her, keeping up the charade.

"Nothin', ma'am. Just bored as fuck." Rogue chuckled and leaned back against the wall with him, closing her eyes in the shade.

"...To be honest with you, sir, you're not the only one. But at least you're not getting groped every five minutes." He raised an eyebrow, and she huffed out a laugh. "I know, I know, but the thing is, this is all an act. A charade. A massive theatre. And some of us do have standards, even if the characters we play don't."

"So you fled over here?"

"Pretty much."

"Any of the other X-men here?"

"Logan's the barkeep, Gambit's the cardsharp. I think that's all, though. No one else wanted to come, and to be honest, we three have a penchant for the Old West." Clint blinked.

"So, you're doing this for  _fun_?" She laughed again and grinned up at him.

"Yes, we are." He groaned faintly.

"You are all insane..."

"Oh chill, tall, dark, and bitchy. Look, here comes the Prez, and if I were you, I'd keep an eye out." He muttered a little, but shifted into the shadows a little more, eyes narrowing. Yeah, there was the President, his wife, and two little girls, and Steve at the forefront, walking backwards as he explained the history of the town, old West twang perfectly in place. Tony had evidently gotten done with the barrels, since Thor was stacking them now and the engineer wiping his arms and face off with a towel, and looking far sexier than he should have been. Bastard had all the girls' eyes on him...when a strange, demented laugh filled the air, and out of a burst of dust...

Loki, dressed head to toe in black leather, rode up on an enormous black stallion, an honest-to-fucking-god villian's mustache on his face. Clint whined a little.

"Oh  _fuck me._ "

...

Clint pouted all throughout the debriefing, hunched over and glaring at Hill as she lectured all of them on the dos and don'ts of dealing with god-like foreign entities. Especially when said entities were drunk off their asses, and wielding mustaches named 'Wendy'. After signing off on the damage portion that was coming out of his paycheck, the archer slipped out, heading back to his nest at the tower...though he did stop and grab a small box from the storage room. He'd kinda liked the hat.


End file.
